Under Fire
by Frankie McStein
Summary: For a second, Campbell thought she'd been shot. But there was no pain. And Dalton wasn't moving.


It was meant to be a simple handoff. The contact in question was very high up in their government, and Deputy Director Campbell was the only one they were willing to meet. The whole thing had been scheduled as a diplomatic meeting, complete with a secure meeting room being reserved. The four guards on each door had no idea the room they were guarding was empty.

Dalton and his team had arrived at the old aircraft hangar over two hours before the scheduled time, Campbell having insisted on a specialist team to run security. By the time she pulled up in an SUV, Dalton was the only one still out in the open.

"Jaz is up in the tower," he muttered as he opened the car door for her. "The rest are on the sides: Amir to the east, Preach west, and McG is at the treeline to the north."

She was careful not to look around; one bodyguard had been another stipulation of this meeting. If nothing went wrong, then "Lee" would never know she had brought a whole team. If something did go wrong, then he would be in no position to complain.

Together Campbell and Dalton made their way to the far end of the hangar, standing just clear of the edge of a door that had stood half-open for so long the hinges had rusted and jammed. Ten minutes ticked by as the meeting time came and went. For the sort of information she'd been promised, Campbell was willing to wait a little while.

The delay was making Dalton edgy; Patricia could tell just by looking at him. He hid it well, but there was a tightness around his eyes that betrayed him.

"Nothing can go wrong, Dalton," she said quietly, watching him react out of the corner of her eye. "You and your team are only here because protocol demands it." She smiled as Dalton snorted at her words.

"If there is a way something can go wrong, I can almost guarantee you'll find it."

Patricia opened her mouth to answer, but Dalton's face changed; he grabbed her and pushed her down behind the door, shielding her body with his, yelling, "Sniper!"

Patricia could hear shouts and running feet and shots. There was something damp on her side, and for a second, she thought she'd been shot. Then she realised she wasn't in pain. And that Dalton wasn't moving.

"Dalton? Dalton!" She tried to struggle out from under him, but he was dead weight, too heavy for her to move on her own without some sort of leverage. More shots rang out, and she stopped moving, hating herself for not being able to get Dalton to safety.

A sudden pressure on her wrists made her head snap up. Amir was holding her hands, looking past her. Dalton's weight shifted, and Amir tugged her forward, dropping her wrists as soon as she was clear and trying to pull up the hem of her shirt, demanding she tell him where she was hit.

"It's not my blood," she told him, and they both looked over to see that Preach had sliced Dalton's shirt open, ripped open his vest, and was pressing hard against the side of his chest. He didn't look up as McG came running.

"Jaz got the guy," McG told them before realising what he was seeing. "What happened? Why didn't his vest catch the shot?"

"It hit on the very edge of the trauma plate, here on the seam. It's a weak spot."

"He was turning when the first shot came," Campbell offered, forcing herself to her feet. "He spotted the sniper and pushed me out of the way."

Running footsteps heralded the arrival of Jaz, and Campbell heard the younger woman ask something. But she couldn't stop looking at Dalton's face. Couldn't stop seeing her son lying there on the floor in front of her. Someone shouted something about an ambulance, and she realised with a shock that there was an entire conversation going on that she wasn't hearing. But all she could focus on was the pained, wheezing gasps escaping from Dalton as he struggled to breathe.

It wasn't exactly uncomfortable. It wasn't exactly comfortable either. It was an odd sort of in-between that made him wonder exactly where he was and what was happening. But he couldn't seem to remember how to open his eyes. He tried to concentrate, but things kept slipping away from him, and he thought he felt his fingers twitch.

He tried again, dragging his thoughts through a few layers of cotton wool. This time, he thought he managed to open his eyes a little, but the effort was just too exhausting. He didn't even hear the voice calling to him.

Pain. Fire and pain and make it stop make it stop make it stop make it… He felt his body relax as something hit his system. The cotton wool was back. He didn't even wonder why it had taken the pain so long to kick in. He just sank back into the warm, deep, fluffy darkness.

"Dal… infecti… fever…"

The noise was getting to be annoying. Like a mosquito. But don't they hum? These were words.

'Focus, Adam,' he told himself as sternly as he could manage. 'Focus.' He needed to open his eyes, properly this time. Find out what was going on. Last thing he remembered was… Gunshots! Campbell! The cotton wool receded against the rush of adrenaline, and he was trying to sit up, trying to move, before he even got his eyes open.

Something was holding him down. Hands! Holding him down, but he needed to move! The deputy director was being shot at! Didn't they know he was responsible for her safety?

"At ease!" The barked command brought him up short, and he realised his eyes were finally open. He forced himself to take a breath, hold it, and look around before breathing out.

"Patricia?" His voice was weak, barely even a whisper, but it was enough to set his throat on fire even as it put a smile on Campbell's face. She reached out for something as he let his head fall back against the pillow.

"Open up." He felt a shock of cold as Campbell slipped an ice chip into his mouth, quickly followed by a rush of relief as it soothed his throat. He let his eyes close for a second while he rolled his head to the side.

He tried to be discreet as he checked his boss over for injuries, but the knowing smirk on her face told him he'd failed miserably.

"I'm fine, Dalton," she assured him. "So is the rest of your team. You and the sniper were the only casualties." He must have raised an eyebrow somehow because she went on, "Jaz took him out with one very impressive shot." Dalton managed not to laugh, feeling it would probably be a dumb thing to do. He settled for a smile before giving into a yawn.

Campbell immediately pulled the blanket back over him from where it had slipped during his struggle earlier. "You've been fighting one mother of an infection. You should sleep. I'll fill you in on the rest of the details later." She stood watching him for a moment before leaving, apparently satisfied that he was going to do as she said.

'Team'll be sneaking in past the nurses soon,' he told himself just before he drifted off. 'They'll tell you anything important.'


End file.
